


Traitor of the Wood

by park3rborn



Series: The History of Reaveth and Aragorn [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-12-07
Updated: 2010-12-07
Packaged: 2019-03-02 05:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13311267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/park3rborn/pseuds/park3rborn
Summary: Just some stuff I wrote down about the future of this fic, I guess. It might be important to reading later.





	1. Logistics and, Apparently, Plot Points

**Author's Note:**

> Just some stuff I wrote down about the future of this fic, I guess. It might be important to reading later.

SUBPLOT #1: Duma starts to turn.

SUBPLOT #2: Dúrven fell in love with a human (like Chess-human, not Reaveth-human.) and they were secretly wed (?) and had Daedhor and Duma. Their mother died after giving birth to Duma, which is why Dúrven doesn’t support his daughter.

SUBPLOT #3: Nazg _û_ l come after Reaveth/Aragorn when Saruman tempted Reaveth in the Wood of Rivendell.  
  
Daedhor leaves Aldwater, and goes back to Mirkwood, Duma stays with Reaveth.  
Mórfin goes back to Lothlórien.  
They come to Aldwater in search of the overlord of the town, who had been captured a while back, and meet the Band instead.  
  
blah blah blah…  
  
They (Sir Lawrence, Reaveth, Duma, Legolas, Dúranu, and Chess) go off to find Cirith. Iris, Osack, Adlór and Lorech stay behind to hold the fort.  
  
The group track Cirith towards the Gulf of Lune (the Shire area), Chess loses heart at the Brandywine River, and leaves. Mindy and Dúranu are close to following, but Reaveth and Legolas convince them to stay.  
  
They dodge the Orcs for a while, but then they run into them.  
Fighting commences, Dúranu gets injured, Reaveth and Duma care for him… blah blah…  
  
They continue on, blah blah, then Reaveth/Duma spot the Orc’s camp. It’s HUGE.  
  
Blah blah..  
  
The group continues on to the area they supposed to be the jail/holding pen, and find out the fate of Cirith. He’s dead. Duma begins to act strange..  
  
In horror, the leave without the body of Cirith, Lawrence is saddened by the fact that Cirith is dead.  
  
He tells the group the message from Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, that they need reinforcements, the group says that Aldwater has nothing to spare, and that most of their men had either been killed or fled.  
  
On the way to find Cirith, Daedhor’s injured. Reaveth attempts to heal him. And she succeeds. Later though, they are tracked by something evil, and are mysteriously attacked during the night. Duma’s attitude still is strange.  
  
As they continue homewards, in the mountains, Reaveth notices the obvious changes in Duma’s behavior, mood, etc..   
  
Little do they know (Duma an exception) that they are being tracked by a large army of Orcs. Duma has been signaling them in the dead of night.  
  
  
Book 3  
  
Key: Duma’s deception and redemption from Sauron’s grasp from Dawn of Death.  



	2. Chapter 1

The camp was very quiet in anticipation as he awoke.  
“Where am I?” he asked.  
“Aldwater,” a girl with nearly black-brown hair, replied. “Who are you?”  
He moaned, and heaved himself up.  
“Aldwater?” he asked. “Where is Cirith? I must speak with him!”  
“What’s your name? Where did you come from?” a she-Elf with dark brown hair and deep, dark brown eyes asked him again.  
“I’m Lawrence, son of Victor of Gondor.”

“Well then, Lawrence of Gondor,” the girl, who had spoken first, said. “You’re a bit too late.”  
Lawrence looked puzzled.  
“Reaveth, let me explain,” Chess, a human with brownish red hair, volunteered. “We were attacked about five years ago..”  
Iris, a Hobbit (which is pretty much a four foot tall human with very large, and fuzzy feet.), shuddered, making her curly red hair quake as well. “That was the worst war I’ve ever been through..”  
“I know,” Chess comforted. “But anyways, the Orcs came charging through, and murdered most of our friends, then captured Lord Cirith,” he took a shuddering breath. “And they—they took him in chains.”  
Iris patted Chess on the back. “It’s all right, you had tried your hardest..”  
Reaveth was confused, but decided to wait until later to ask Chess more about the battle.  



	3. Random Battle Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently by this point, I started to lose momentum in my writing. The next few chapters will probably be choppy.

Daedhor* gasped. “You’re bleeding!” he exclaimed, indicating Reaveth’s gash in her side.  
“I’m fine,” replied the girl through gritted teeth, pressing the wound.  
“No, you’re not fine,” Daedhor* snapped, urging her to the ground. Then looking up from her momentarily, he yelled for the rest of the group.  
Reaveth’s vision swam in and out as Daedhor* dabbed at the wound with a cloth.  
“Hang in there,” he* murmured.  
Reaveth didn’t reply, for she feared if she spoke, the pain would definitely overwhelm her willpower to stay conscious.


	4. Passage Through the Shire

“Stay low!” Iris hissed, flicking the pony on the hindquarters with her short whip to keep moving.  
The Shirrifs had yet to come towards the wagon.  
“Fine then!” Reaveth snapped back, ducking her head down.  
It was good she did, because it was then when a Shirrif came up to the little cart on his own fat brown pony.  
“What’s your business around here, farmer?” he asked, his breath smelling like ale.  
“I was just goi--”  
To the caravan’s misfortune, it was just then, when Lawrence found it a good time to sneeze. Iris, thinking quickly on her part, pretended to sneeze, although it was not very convincing to the pony, who had turned its head to look at the driver. Lucky for her, the Shirrif had obviously gone out drinking recently, and believed it.  
“Sorry,” Iris apologized. “It’s my allergies.”  
Reaveth bit her tongue to prevent from laughing.  
“Anyways,” the she-Hobbit continued, a bit louder hearing the bunch shifting around in the back. “I just came back from dropping off a load at Bree. I’m going to fetch more supplies.”  
The Shirrif eyed her suspiciously, but backed off.  
“Thank you, sir,” Iris said, and gave a whistle for the speckled pony to get a move on.  
When the cart was at a safe distance of about eighteen yards away from the outpost, Iris stopped the cart.  
“That was too close,” she told her passengers.  
“Well, _sorry_ ,” Reaveth retorted sourly. “It smells like potatoes back here.”  
Lawrence laughed. “Well _duh_ , this was a potato caravan.”  
Daedhor stretched. “Ugh,” he moaned. “Next time, I’ll walk.”  
“Besides,” Duma added. “We could have killed him or tied him up--”  
“Nononono!” Iris scolded. “People around here would find out faster than you can blink, then we’d be outlaws, and not to mention unable to get back to Aldwater.”  
“She’s got a point,” Legolas agreed. “The Shire’s area does pretty much spread to the Mountains.”  
Duma sighed. “Whatever. Now, where’s some grub? I’m starving!”  
“Well, if you guys would be so kind as to sit down again, I’ll take you to my sister, Therese’s, place.”

After a few more minutes of rumbling down the hill, the little bunch made it to Therese’s Hobbit-hole.  
“Come on then,” Iris invited, and hopped down. She knocked on the big dark red door, which was embossed with flower-like patterns.  
“Coming,” a voice called.  
Reaveth and Duma nearly fell out of the wagon as they clambered out of the cramped area.  
There was a rattling at the door, and a chubby, red-headed Hobbit head peeked out.  
“Yes?” she asked.  
Iris grinned. “Therese!”  
“Iris?” Therese asked. “Is that you?”  
“No, I’m Bob Took, and I’m here to trim your lawn. Of course it’s me!”

Therese nearly screeched for joy.  



	5. Daedhor's Injury

Little did they know an Orc had tracked them back to their camp…  
There was a loud *twang!*   
A black-shafted arrow blasted through the air, and the tip nestled itself into the unfortunate right shoulder of Daedhor. The strong impact of the arrow knocked him to the soft mossy ground, with a quiet groan. He lay there, in obvious pain: his teeth clenched shut, eyes closed, and he was clutching his shoulder.  
Quick as lightning, Legolas shot after the Orc as Duma and Reaveth ran to Daedhor’s aid.  
“Daedhor!” Duma whispered.  
“Don’t move him,” Reaveth warned, allowing pure instinct to take over again. She swiftly, but cautiously removed the arrow.  
By that time Legolas had killed the Orc, and came over as well. He bent on one knee at Daedhor’s left side, and the rest stood watching anxiously.  
“Can we help?” Legolas asked, voicing everyone’s unspoken question.  
“Yes,” Reaveth told him, then addressed everyone. “Get kingsfoil, something to stop the blood, and someone _please_ get a fire going!”  
They all nodded, then sped off to complete their various tasks.  
Duma took Daedhor’s hand so Reaveth could inspect the wound. It was difficult to see in the failing light, but Reaveth could merely smell the blood, and be able to tell it was bad.  
Legolas was the first to return with a bundle of fresh kingsfoil leaves in one hand, and a makeshift torch in the other.  
He sprinted over, though being watchful not to accidentally light anything on fire.  
“I’m here,” he panted.  
“Legolas, good,” Reaveth murmured. “Help us take off Daedhor’s shirt. It’s too dark to see anything clearly.”  
He nodded, and put down his herbs and the torch a good way away from each other.  
Together, they gently removed the stained tunic from the wounded Elf, who was barely conscious, and limp as a ragdoll.  
As Legolas went to fetch the torch and leaves again, Dúranu came running to them after tearing long strips of cloth from a blanket.  
The two stood over their companions, Dúranu very restless, and Legolas holding the torch out so the light could shine on Daedhor.  
Duma gagged in shock and horror as she spotted the dreadful gash.  
It was easy to see, since it was an angry shade of red among all of the healed scars. The cut itself was about an inch and a half deep, and roughly an inch in diameter, though the blood made it look worse than it was.  
Reaveth was probably one of the only one there who did not show any outward emotion as she squeezed the juices from the plant into the injury. After there was nothing left to extract from the leaves, she had Duma prop up her brother, still limper than a dead fish, so she could wrap up the scratch.  
Lawrence had gotten a good fire going by the time Reaveth had done the best she could. She and Duma moved Daedhor closer to the fire, and everyone began to relax, but just a little.  
“Is there any hope?” Duma asked the girl who was studying the arrow carefully.  
“Hope?” Reaveth repeated, not looking up. “I don’t believe in hope. I don’t trust it.” A silent tear streaked down her cheek. “But I’ve done what I can. It is up to Eru if he is to live.”  
She kept fingering the arrow, and thinking aloud to herself. “It kind of looks like one of Haldir’s arrows for war…” she muttered. “But shorter, and more Orcish…” She raised her voice to Legolas. “Legolas, can you come here a moment?”  
He nodded, and walked over. “Yes?”  
“Take a look at this arrow.”  
Legolas stooped so he could see it properly. “It looks like a poisoned arrow,” he whispered to her.  
The girl nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought it was,” she paused, and hissed in Legolas’ ear “When I used kingsfoil, was that the right thing to use? I mean, should I have used something else?”  
Legolas looked at her. “Did you have any training for herbal treatment?”  
“Uh- no…”  
“So you acted on instinct?”  
“Yes.”  
“Then it was the right plant to use.”  
“But- if I’m not trained, then how does that work out?”  
Legolas smiled. “It’s just what you thought was right. I do it all the time.”  
“But what if what you thought was right was wrong?”  
“We are all the same, whether we are Elves, or Hobbits, or even Dwarves,” Legolas said, carefully avoiding anything that may intrigue the girl. “We make mistakes, and move on.”  
“But what if the mistakes are--?”  
Legolas held up one hand to stop the flow of questions.  
“He’ll be fine, you did the right thing.”  
Reaveth was confused terribly, so she just dropped the subject.  
Legolas was satisfied. He had confused the only girl that could confuse anyone.


	6. Reaveth Comes To (WIP)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may actually write this one out because I feel like past me missed out on the literal main plot point.

The first thing she felt was mind-blowing pain. The pain wracked her entire body, and lingered around her midsection and her head. She groaned, and struggled to sit up. She looked around. There was no one in the room with her. The room (room description). Suddenly, the door opened, and two (?, it can also just be Aragorn) people came in. The taller one (Elrond’s description). The slightly shorter one was strangely familiar to her; but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.


	7. Duma Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2010 me clearly lost track of how this should have gone.

“There are many things you do not know, my dear sister.” Daedhor smirked.

Duma’s face showed her confusion.

“Oh. I forgot. You never knew.” He laughed coldly.

“I’m supposing this is a dream… so that means I can…”

“You think you can wake up?”

“I was kind of thinking…”

Daedhor grinned devilishly, and Duma’s eyes grew huge as they shot through a multitude of scenes; the land around the two flicking from the green  trees of Rivendell, to the smoking remains of lost cities; from gory battlefields, to calm seas. After a few minutes the scenery  seemed to have changed to the old Path that she and Reaveth walked a few years ago.

            “Come with me.” Daedhor smiled.

Duma was shocked.

            “Whoa, whoa,” she said, holding up her hands. “Wait a minute. You just went completely insane for five minutes, then the world went nuts, and now you think I’ll go for a… for a… a…”

Daedhor was unfazed, and instead of replying, he simply held out his hand.

Part of her said: _Run!_ , and another said: _Take his hand_.

She chose the latter.

            “It’s just a dream,” she told herself. “Just a dream…”

            “Yes,” Daedhor agreed. “Dreams are merely made up, not real. Nothing can hurt us.” He laughed. “If you wanted to, you could fight a Balrog, and win.

            “Been there, done that,” Duma told him.

They began walking down the Path quietly.

            “Hey! Where are the spiders?” she wondered aloud. “And where’s that rock that looks like a giant nose?” She stopped, and pointed to a great oak tree.

            “It should be right here!”

            “There was never a nose shaped rock here,” her sibling stated.

            “But…” the she-Elf stammered, pounding on the tree’s trunk. “The- Nose- of- Thranduil- should- be- right- here!” Her words synced with her melee attacks.

            “Why are you beating on that tree? And what’s all this about a giant nose of the King’s son?” a young masculine voice asked.

She froze mid-strike, and instinctively reached for her throwing dagger. _Of course._ She thought annoyed. _No weapons._

“Morambar,” she swore softly. As she turned to face the newcomer, she realized that Daedhor was gone. _Coward!_


	8. Reaveth Meets Aragorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Okay, here we goes. This next thingy is a Reaveth meets Aragorn for the first time kind of a thing. Reaveth was going to Lothlórien, from Aldwater, and Aragorn was going to Aldwater, from Lorien, to obviously find each other. They meet, and have a short discussion in a quaint little town called Kenterton."
> 
> Sure, 2010 me. Sure.

          He was a tall, mysterious man, with a quiver of arrows strapped on his back, and a intricate silver sheath on his belt. On his person, was a burnt-red colored tunic, with a deep green three-fourths overcoat covering it, brown leggings, and tall leather boots. Deep in his dark eyes, hidden away, was a hint of a regal lineage. He had an air of intelligence and command about him, she could tell, just by looking at his face and body language.  

“Hail, stranger!” she called.

He nodded acknowledgement, and strode towards her, head held high, although an apparent recent gash making him favor his right leg.

“You summoned me, lady?” he asked, bowing slightly.

“Yes,” she returned the polite bow, “Is there any way from here to Lothlórien, the realm of the golden Elves?”

“Aye, I’ve just recently come from there. You go out the west gate, turn right at the fork, then keep going straight. After you’ve walked past the twisted oak, you’ll reach a bridge. You should be able to cross it without any trouble, except recently there have been… issues… involving that bridge.” he glanced quickly at his right leg, his face showing his thoughts of irony. “You can cross the river by another bridge, if you take the other road on the left; it’s not very large, but it’ll get you across should the first bridge be occupied. Then it’s a straight shot to Lothlorien.”

“Thank you for your kindness, stranger. Is there anything I could do to repay you?”

“Yes. I need the fastest route to a little town called Aldwater, the one near the central foot of the Misty Mount--”

            “I know where it is.” She gave him the instructional on how to get around the occasional “toll bridges”, and where food and water could be found. Then she handed him a detailed map, that had neat marks identifying trouble, shelter, and food.

            “This gift is most gracious of you, lady; but I cannot take it with me.”

            “I’ve got another map.” She pulled it out, just to ease his mind. “You might need it, just in case you forget where something is.”

            “I… thank you.” He stooped once more. “Namárië, i Melain berio le.” Farewell, may the Valar keep you.

She grinned. He spoke Elvish, her second language. “Calo anor na ven.” May the sun shine on your path.

He returned the smile, and set off towards the southern gate.

            “Mára mesta!” Goodbye! Reaveth cried after him.

            “Cuio vae!” Farewell! He answered, disappearing from view.


	9. Torture

Reaveth lay stunned, face down in the grass.  Rough hands grasped her, and she heard the “urrumph” that usually associated with lifting something heavy. Her sleepy mind created the lazy thought: _I’m not fat. And you smell. If I were in control, I would kill you right now, with my hands behind my back. Do you know who I am? I am the heir of Gondor!_

She added. _And I’m talking to myself, in my own mind. What would Du— a friend, say to this?_

_You mean Duma._

_No, Duma’s not a friend anymore._

_You’re correct, she’s an enemy._

_No, she’s just—_

_Yes, she is an enemy. Did she not just attempt to kill you, and your friends?_

_No, that wasn’t Duma. That was her twin._

_Uh huh._

_Yeah, and her twin is insane._

_Right…_ The voice sounded sarcastic. _And her twin is crazier than you?_

_Hey, you’re the one who butted in the first place!_

_Perhaps, but I’m a figment of_ your _imagination; so who’s the mental one?_

Reaveth paused, realizing how crazy this would sound if she was speaking it aloud. She hoped she wasn’t; otherwise her chaperone might decide it wasn’t such a good idea to have picked her up. But still, if the stinky whatever did decide that, it might end her rather different conversation inside her subconscious. Or it could make it worse.

            _You do realize, that I can hear every word you’re thinking, don’t you?_

_And you do realize, that you’re going to be the death of my sanity, don’t you?_

_Well, what sane Elf, Man, Halfling, Dwarf, or strange crossbreed talks to itself? I’ll go away if you can list at least three._

Silence.

            _I’m waiting._

_I’m thinking of a name to call you. I think I’ll call you Interrupter._

_Oh really?_

_Yes, every time I attempt to —_

_You’re boring me to death. If I had toes, I’d say that they are much more interesting than you._

_Exactly my point._

_You know, that very, very,_ very _, handsome boy you were dating a short while ago…_

At this point, Reaveth had begun to block out this obnoxious voice, that harrowingly reminded her of Duma, and attempted to bring herself back around to reality, no matter where she woke up in. After a few unsuccessful tries, she heard chanting. It ominously rattled and ricocheted around in her pounding head. _Oh Eru, I can’t stand anymore of this. Why can’t this—_ She realized something. This wasn’t the intoning of her tormentor. The voice was deeper, raspy, and much more masculine than Interrupter. It slowly became clearer and clearer with each repeat.

 

            Lawrence paused momentarily as Reaveth’s body gave a small jerk, then continued. _Elvish chant, then Numenorian._ He reminded himself.

 

_O mighty Manw_ _ë_ _Súlimo,_

_I plead to thee,_

_I pray that thou shalt truly heed me._

_Long ago, in Valinor,_

_You swore an oath,_

_That whenever I needed your strength,_

_You’d be there for me._

_I call upon your greatness,_

_The second heir is near death,_

_She needs higher care than I can give,_

_Grant me my wish!_


	10. Ross Simmin's Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "ROSS SIMMINS' EPILOGUE. AKA: When Ross gets his kisser clobbered, he runs away like a coward, back to Moron—er, I mean, -- Morambar. :p"

His nose had finally stopped bleeding as he stalked into camp. A black tent loomed ahead. Four goblins stood as guards. The goblins were drunkards, ugly, rude, and their most prominent quality… not the brightest stars in the sky.  Despite this, they did their jobs, if you agreed to pay their ridiculous price. They came in a small variety of colors: black, dark grey, light grey, dark brown, or a weird mix of black, green, and brown. Most of them only spoke in grunts and snarls, or hand signals. A rather crude way of communicating, Ross mused. He also thought that they were somehow related to pigs. He knew they smelled alike. Out of fear of this scent, he held his breath, and walked up to them.

"'Allo, 'at do we 'ave here?" Fezin, the burly mixed one, asked.

"I'm here to speak with Morambar. Move out of my way." Ross silently died of the stench.

"Hm." Fezin's face crinkled in all sorts of ways as he thought about the request. "And what if I don't?"

Ross leaned in, and whispered a simple two word sentence. "You die."

Fezin gulped nervously. "Ah, right this way, Master Simmins." The grunt was submissively face down in the dirt.

Ross kicked the goblin, wrinkling his nose in disgust, then winced as the scabs on his face were stretched. _Why did I agree on this job..._ he moped.

 

"You're a wreck," Morambar stated bluntly.

"You hired a wreck," Duma muttered darkly.

"Watch it, Elf," Simmins spat.

"Try me, human."

"My good people, _please_ , can we keep this at some level of decency and respect?”

They glared daggers at each other, but didn't strangle each other.

 _It's an improvement, I suppose._ he evaluated.

"Now," he rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. "Simmins, you were successful?"

No reply.


	11. Osack and Reaveth Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The birds, the bees, and the Osack+Reaveth moment. Okay, not like a pairing one, I mean just like a sad memory."

“Osack, what’s the matter?” she [Reaveth] expected no answer.

He was gazing up, at the reddened sky. There was a storm coming, a little ways off to the east. Then he spoke, and it was no more than a whisper on the wind.

“My parents were murdered this day.”

She was silent in shock. She had known that his parents were dead, but never had the courage to nose her way into _how_ they died.

“I was barely ten.” His eyes were dull, his forehead glistened with sweat, and goosebumps raced over his pale body. He looked almost like someone on the brink of fainting. Despite this, she understood that he had to get this off his mind, and therefore said nothing of it. She would get him taken care of when they arrived back in civilization.

“The Orcs were invading from the mountainside…”

As he spoke, her mind’s eye thrust her into his tale.


End file.
